I feel the air
from all your wings,
flapping, flapping,
fibrillating fritillary,
dragonfly.
Category Archives: description
I can imagine river living, living by the river,
the Willamette where it winds through Creswell,
life between the buttes when there was so much
more to uncertainty than there is now.
Calling calling Colorado Gail, calling on my
dead ones, death, calling on the red ones,
milk red spots or stains, the blueberry of
buildings, the gray of grass, it dominates.
I prefer emotions in my tail, heartache in my bottom.
Move your bottom, Sam submits, submits to everything.
I am aligned, aligned with green.
Light green of lakes, lake green.
Sonor of sounds, radar, sonar,
beeping in my blood.
july 25, 2007
Random rivers of the heart.
Heart-mind, chitta.
Is the Pali.
I hug the Pali, huggable Pali.
Don’t be Stupid.
Don’t be Stupid, Seeker.
Let me entreat Color.
Let me not regret
admiring your forms
Sam naked in the shower
valuable worthwhile
treasure treasure treasure
Karen fat and Karen thin
Not seeing my self Self as a consolidation of effort toward desire, not at my age.
Just to write, just to stop and write.
Write Mt Fuji, Write Kilimanjaro, Write Annapurna, Write Denali, Write Mt Everest, Write the Moon.
july 23, 2007
Joy of Stopping.
Cold Rain, Joy of Stopping in the Cold Rain.
Stopping by Starbucks on a Rainy Summer Afternoon.
Air conditioned like a bunch of plague victims.
Hurts, Incest. Insects. Sex.
Do you want me to come over there? He’s panting. He’s panting fabulous. She’s tan. She’s handicapped. She’s tand and handicapped. She’s Pat. She’s married. She’s forgotten. She is at risk for sexually transmitted diseases. She’s tarnished. She’s wilted. Wasted, warped. He’s warped, he’s disabled, he’s dyslexic. He’s young.
She talks so fast my head spins. Dizziness disease.
Who works hard and
who does not. Morning
example. Morning works
hard hard work raising
the hemisphere.
Shadow crawl.
I can resurrect the feel of fright – tightness, hollowness in the chest, circulation stops to the extremities. Pounding. Swimming Head.
I am a wall. 1600’s in my weekend. So I toil along, mud along, muddle along.
The defaced masterpiece, cropped so lovingly. This is where it was supposed to go (blank arch, bare wall).
What is a redeye? The red eye of the future, Rembrandt blears at you. Someone who knows.
My garden, scene of horrid crimes and dense emergencies. Strangulation, rot, failure to thrive. My sand, my straw.
Murderous exhaustion exhaustion of hill climbing exhaust air exhaust
the constant muddy beating and calling
The Exhaustion
There is no exploration—
sad tolerance well sad.
Everything is perfectly orderly
there is no unknown
there is no pressure
there is no relationship
all words for work
all winds blow from there to there
she lacks fluency
she is being careful rigid
she is being beside herself
she is soul shallow
she has a spoon to stir herself
she has a spring to mail herself
she does not have a skirt or shorts
june 30, 2007
Calendar check 6:30.
Time check 1:30.
Skin check: itchy.
Wrist check: stiff.
Mind check: jittery.
Stomach check: jittery.
Throat check: thirsty.
Mouth check: worried about someone else’s leukemia.
Soul check: distant.
Pulse check: alive.
Poetry check: parallel universe.
Sky check: blue delightful.
Bird check: twittering and cheeping.
Smell check: corpse flowers.
Sound check: birds, flies buzzing, metallic clink, a flagpole, distant pounding, distant humming.
Air check: slightly breezy, warm.
Clink, clink clink.
Cars passing. Thump.
Cedrus Libani, Cedar of Lebanon.
Stone cairns.
Cedar needles.
Adirondack chairs.
Conversations hanging in the air.
Buzzing plane. Gardens.
Labor hanging in the air, remnants of sweat.
Dry tongue. Clink, clink.
Air belly, squirrel throat.
Darkness behind the eyes.
Mouth film.
Uneasy belly. Toast and jelly.
Uneasy eyes, ants and flies.
Uneasy legs, beans and eggs.
Uneasy hands, toast and jam.
Ordered poetry for the millennium. I am not a MicMac, not a Passamaquoddy, not a Pequot. Hanging conversations. I have made up my mind. Corpse flower, cedar needles. Aboriginal gardens. Poisons. Fatalities. Eco echoes.
Afternoon check: summer.
ping point paing
ha ha
bird, don’t think I won’t fuck you up*
pushing past flowers
pushing up daisies
premature form
projects – projective – projectivist
is it the breath or the typewriter
out in the open field
asshole email
I’m doing it again – indenting lines off the left margin for no reason – oh yeah, because they are new paragraphs
high-pitched hello
june 28, 2007
jittery buttocks unsettled arms
itchy achey paing palling upset set up
minimalist hello
I feel my diaphragm, it wants to contract. It wants to lift up and pull in. It wants to furl up like an umbrella.
I see a caret, arrow, circumflex.
I see accents aigu and grave.
I see tomorrow but only in my mind.
I see the table and the paper.
I see vigor. I see sunlight.
I see a flimsy tissue, leaves printed on one side and a small saying on the other. Inserted into envelopes. Like bank deposits, or like cookie envelopes. Anything. Or in a stack of slips, withdrawal or deposit, anything.
No need to drink this latté. No need to say “doppio.”
I feel a curvature in my stomach, a sensation preceding tears.
I complain.
Yellowstone.
Somewhere there is quiet there is desert, there are trails. Somewhere there is dust warming in the early sunlight. Somewhere hares are twitching, coyotes scratching, sage brush glowing scented in the air. Somewhere.
Some things that I am learning.
Want to run and hide away.
Low endorphins. Not excited. Sad.
There are “the’s” in the work, there are no “the’s.”
I am sucked in
I gotta do some laundry
I can’t get a grip
Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon, Lisbon.
Find that wishing-wanting. Find that rooster Greed a’crowing.
Find aversion, Blair at High School Graduation in a thunderstorm,
dressed like hell, and making his first adult deposit into an account.
june 22, 2007
Unknowns and failure to adapt.
The lowness, lack. The this the that.
What about no articles?
No questions, no answers?
What about The Questionnaire?
Numbness
numb nuts
No reunion.
A No Reunion Year.
Not a lot beyond the asphalt. Sense of heat. Some heat arising. Hot sun on my foot. Grimy hands, oil of muffin on my fingers. Ashes floating in the air. Smell—coffee roasted black. Harm. Gas moving through my pelvis. Hair strands bothering my face. Dry with work. Wet with love. Sparrow visits.
june 21, 2007 Summer Solstice
Hesitance – so typical.
“Coming Soon – Tony’s Deli”…
“Office Space for Rent”
“Sanda’s Cleaners – Free Pickup”
(scared) (scarce) (spotlight) (frozen in)
this one wants to write through everything
this one wants pigtails
this one wants to be the age I am
this one wants disabilities and aches and pains
this one believes in happiness
the floral happiness
the petalled extras
the extravagance
the vagaries
the vacuum vengeance
the cosmic curiosities
the wretched
there are unawakened
there are emotional storms
Ralph’s sadness and his brave front
how do you like your brave front now
I can smell my armpits very faintly
hemorrhoid and I miss California
there is a sensation of letting judgments drop away and no big deals
not trying to achieve you see this backlog boatload
reminiscent wish for Gertrude mind you wonder
woman next to me a fleshy mountain dressed in purple
next woman slim in orange, brown skin
asking questions
tentative—
like the turtle laying her eggs on the beach
trance tears running
trance tears trance tears
your 10-year-old body cannot take it
no ambition
no clarity
or lack of clarity
there is the sweetest delicate salve
like flower scented
and it flows
it’s over all that
and the meaning—
The coffee is terrible. Watery for an espresso.
jangling, the music is loud, Tina Turner, Dougie, favorite character, sitting in the corner mumbling, guy with tattoo of an axe on his forearm, sketching, someone like Blair maybe—I get tired. I get tired. Hey g’bye. Dougie says. Leave the poor guy alone. She shoots for Christianity. She is a tiny girl, a tiney angel, with tan skin, dark hair, named Angel. Everyone knows Doug. How’s your bike runnin’, Dougie, good? Here I am with characters. Still Life with Characters. Different bike from the last one he had. Everyone seems friendly. Hesitation. No No No. Dougie, Mario, Jim.
who knows there are so many of them
trying to impress a dorky blend
compassion insight and the mere awareness
here it’s murky there is lots of black
occasional pashmina tight shirts walking skirts
and colored personal skin that’s very vague
and expletive with panty lines—sigh—
let’s all uncover it—
that one is pregnant and
two boys go by on roller shoes…
and another difficulty walking pin stripe
squares with red tie classical you should be
retired tired tie and all
your silky light hair disarrayed and
off to work you go with stiffness and concern
Learning to resolve, learning to dissolve, distort, depress, the discouragement of your name, learning about tanned skin, catalogs, and scans. How the coffee machine works, where you stand up where you stall where to stand up where to stall, how far to go, considering you are a hairy white man chubby belly straining plaid with ear phones and bewildered eyes—
My language is restrained, restricted, business-like, falling back on some discovery rhythm only there the emptiness of sea.
june 7, 2007
Moment in a corner—NYC 3rd Ave 48th & 49th or is it 47th & 48th? So much music, so much silence on the streets. So many walking, so much purpose.
Pace accelerated or slowed down, watching mind, allow for the irrational, allow for traveling socks, allow for hairdos, allow for walkie-talkies, long bones, commutes, the military. Allow for focus allow for data entry. Allow for exercise, clichés, and chatter of all kinds.
This is a house of wax.
Policeman handing him a napkin. Her tone of confidential awfulness.
Tight, struggle arms, aches slight in shoulders, upper arms and jaw.
Wandering. Needing an infusion. Noting—or—composing. Note-compose, note and compose.
Here I am watchless ringless braless. Not exciting and no crocheted vest. Divestiture.
Hair with comb marks, teeth with toe marks, toes with teeth marks, polished toes.
june 5, 2007
Worried look. Eyes echoing her beads, shiny, pink.
Cheeping and garbage, puddles in asphalt. I sip asphalt from the puddles.
There is a row of pines. There are balls of flowers hanging in the air, purple petunias, yellow, gold and red.
Crow eating garbage next store to next door to my parking spot. Next door.
Feel the sketching in my chest. I am bettled. Belted in.
I would like to. I would not like to.
Jangling, fried and frazzled dura. Belted in. Car speak.
failure to sprout and
fail to thrive the spinach seeds
but beets and carrots are up in their rows
and
Max the black cat wanders in the yard
a wander purposeful
a wander graceful
and impressive
Averse to morning happenings and hoverings
belly full of oatmeal blueberries
and sunflower seeds sprinkling of
flax meal and a splash of soy
june 1, 2007 Moments 7 am
Easily impressed by nothing
this is not much of a morning
broken morning by a change in plans
change in routine
I am seeking if there is seeking
I am watching if there is watching
Resting consciousness and sparrow comes to visit. Sparrows are efficient. No timetables, no project plans.
Not concerned with what I used to be concerned with.
Speech is ill-considered and dangerous.
There is a picnic table, it is wood, and an umbrella. It goes through a hole. And it is hot, organic, and resting in the sun.
may 31, 2007 lunchtime
Flying into the air. Nothing here but words. Oh my ice tea, avocado sandwich, chocolate bar. 70%. Dietary happiness.
I am mad at them.
Stone blue eyes, steel and Georgian silver. All is gorgeous.
I am sad. Little girl with pastry, mother talking on the cellphone. Unsweetened. Men doing crosswords with raised eyebrows.
The book I haven’t read yet, haven’t even started it.
Markers. Stream of bubbles where it all went down.
Feeling oversized, overwrought, overcome. Feeling feet in shoes. Feeling a non-yogic sluggishness, untoned qualities creeping in and the mind is coalescing.
Feeling mountain in my legs, train in my direction, gladness in my pelvis.
Covered with azalea, peach, yellow, orange. And pink, red, purple. It is the time of year.
may 30, 2007
Tuning up, a discovery, a path of order. Birdsong, cars starting to move. Exercises. I am in. I am out. No I.
may 29, 2007
Hot page cool breeze. Birds and juice. Death in the air, creeping. Suicidal Ideation. Nothing but pleasantries, a need to scan the lines. Rustle woods, the deer step, squirrel shuffle. Peculiar disconnectedness of individuals, editors, the edited smile, the censored speech. Pileup of phrases. The litter of prepositions, the punctuation of punctuation. Texture of voices and air conditioning noises. The bands and patterns of tension. Often I ask: what are you talking about? What does it mean, the transfer function?
black flies in the golding light
the piercing chirp the here-I-am of jays
the coo-coo mourning the obstreperous chirp of sparrow
and no crow no crow not now and
with the comprehensive smell of garbage early train
I am sleepy I am escapade I am trying and I am embroiled enmeshed in software wanting hard to order paper dreaming of a touch of handmade paper khadi paper and a morning watercolor made in the land of garbage and the land of smells.
This is my life what has it come to what I am learning is something different I must say it is draining it is lanced I am lanced and oozing after Canyonlands and Arches Park. I am teetering on the edge and struggle to make something when there’s the skyline halfway clothed with leaves and a suburban brightness in the air with sounds of water gurgling and a morning goldness in the air and a suburban cheeping with a hum of traffic while the dog rests and the flying bee whirrs by.
The smell of garbage mixes with a hint of lilac this is it I will not write
no rhythm
no awful
no silly
no sentence
no courage
no dependability
no glancing
no gazing
no call
no dependency
no tooth
no braids
no exoskeleton
urge to travel I will travel and see wondrous things like towels and bats, howling cats,
prattling monkeys, whale skeletons and towers of ant with garbage backdrop and
insect afterscape
Bhikkhu emptiness here in
suburbs son sprawled out
in light at 5 am this is
a ticklish dream wrapped cold
around my torso cold and
drowned around my torso
dog tickling and jiggling
jingling here him sniffing smithing
Three pots of herbs well one and two of emptiness
Need well something. I am in need this morning. Some new habit some new privilege to be awake and early writing with backdrop of garbage and the smell of birds
The I is overwhelming here and now in land of birdsong 6 am the cheep the chirp the dark quilt on the wall alonso allons sie alliteration awfulness I am expected.
Busy women clopping by in heels.
There is some default, not my fault.
Fault and fault and fault.
The spring of faults and restitution.
I am out of synch, off kilter.
There is some compression of the spine.